13. Daltyn
DALTYN
I pace the floors again, too afraid to sleep.
It’s stupid to be afraid of nightmares.
Even worse, they’re about my past. Something that can’t hurt me anymore, but I’ve never truly escaped it.
I already know another one’s coming tonight. Gram’s bullshit comments about Peyton and me building some fantasy life together triggered something in me.
But it’s not just that. It’s the ease with which Peyton and I functioned tonight. She helped me put away the groceries while we exchanged looks about Gram. Then we made dinner together and followed it up by watching a movie.
It was nice. Easy. Relaxing.
And that’s the problem.
I can’t fall for her. No good will come from it.
I get up and turn on the shower. Maybe that will help me sleep.
Water beads over my skin as I step beneath the warm spray. But instead of a clear head, Peyton’s beautiful face rolls through my mind. And the text where she called me “sir” follows. My dick instantly hardens.
“No,” I tell it. “Absolutely not.”
He ignores me.
I grab the body wash. “Seriously. We are not doing this.”
He stands at attention like he’s daring me.
“We’re not.”
I grit my teeth, picturing Peyton in my sweatshirt and those damn black panties.
And my cock gets exactly what it wants as I wrap my hand around him.
This will relax me.
Help me sleep.
Keep the nightmares away.
That’s enough to let my mind wander back to Key West.
The storm rolled in the distance, and Peyton was scared. Though I let her have the bed and was curled up on the floor, her whimper had me sitting up. She rolled over and found my eyes in the darkness.
“Please. Hold me.”
I was already crawling onto the bed, seeing that panic in her eyes again. I hated it. Wanted it gone.
She curled up against me, and I tried to ignore how well she fit against me. How right she felt in my arms.
We focused on her breathing until she settled down.
I’m not sure exactly when it happened. Maybe when the two of us were breathing together. Maybe it was the warmth of her petite body against mine.
Whatever it was snapped my resistance. My hand cupped her face, and she gave a slight nod.
That was all the permission I needed.
My lips met hers, unleashing a chain reaction. Color exploded behind my eyes. Her whimpers and sighs were music to my ears. Her touch became the one thing I didn’t know I needed until I had it.
We were interrupted that night by the howling winds and pounding rain.
But in the shower, nothing stops me from imagining Peyton beneath me. The sounds she’d make. The way she’d come apart in my arms if I ever truly let myself touch her.
I moan her name, shooting long ropes of cum toward the drain.
Afterward, I lean my head against the shower wall, catching my breath.
And the guilt rushes back in.
He crooks his finger at me. “Come here, boy.”
I tell myself to be strong. To not show fear.
But my body shakes as I move at a snail’s pace, staring at the belt in his hands.
The last time, he beat me unconscious.
Would he be more merciful this time? Or would it be worse?
As the first crack of the leather strikes my skin, I call out a name.
But it isn’t my mom’s.
It’s Peyton’s.
I jolt awake, sitting straight up in my bed. Sweat soaks my skin as my wild eyes search the room.
You’re home. Safe.
He’s not here.
He’s dead. Remember?
The thought calms me. I don’t care that he was my father. He abused my mom and me so violently that all I can feel toward him is hatred. Even now.
I get up, running a hand through my damp hair.
Maybe a drink will help.
I silently slip downstairs, navigating through the darkness to the fridge. I grab a bottle of water, open it, and drain half of it.
Stepping back, I lean a hip against the counter, fighting a sudden urge to check on Peyton. To make sure she’s okay.
I finish the bottle of water, telling myself she’s fine and to go to bed.
But I don’t listen.
I silently pad down the hallway, telling myself this is stupid. Foolish.
I’m surprised to find her bedroom door open.
I suck in a breath when I see her. She’s lying on her side, one small fist curled beneath her chin. Long lashes rest on slightly flushed cheeks. Her breathing is even and steady, soothing me.
I stand there longer than I should, watching her.
Then I finally turn around and head back upstairs to the loft.
It feels colder and emptier than ever.